Malcolm Moore is the Telegraph's Shanghai Correspondent. He arrived in China in July 2008 after three years in Italy as the Telegraph's Rome Correspondent. Before that, he was the paper's Economics Correspondent.

The changing face of Shanghai

The Telegraph is opening a new bureau in Shanghai, which has once again risen to be one of the world's most opulent and dynamic cities.

China rising: The Pudong Financial District in Shanghai

It is difficult to avoid using clichés about Shanghai's size and modernity. It has almost three times as many people as London, with skyscrapers in all directions, at least until they are blotted out by the haze.

When it comes to boasting about its modernity and sophistication, it is worth remembering that Shanghai has always been the most tolerant and forward-thinking of cities, apart from during one notable blip.

When my grandfather came to university in Shanghai in the early 1940s, he took away a lifelong impression of the size, glamour and open-mindedness of the city. As one estate agent put it to me: "If a Shanghainese sees something three times, he can accept it."

It was the Shanghainese that transformed China's dowdy and baggy qipao dress into the sultry cheongsam as early as 1900. Thirty years later, the city was the financial heart of Asia, neatly divided by foreigners into various concessions.

It was in the 1930s that my new home was developed by the grandfather of the current landlord. I have part of an old lane house in a quiet compound off the Fuxing Lu, a major thoroughfare in the French Concession once known as Rue Lafayette.

The history of the house reflects Shanghai's turbulent 20th century. When it was built, it used to be said that Shanghainese who wanted to learn how to work would settle in the British Concession, which radiated outwards from the Bund. The Shanghainese who wanted to learn "how to live", however, would head for the languorous French area.

Built around a central magnolia tree, the small complex of spacious houses was initially called Cambridge Court. Raymond Cheung, my landlord, said he was born in the house, to an Indonesian father and a Chinese mother. When the Cultural Revolution arrived, however, his family was denounced by his neighbourhood Communist party to the hordes of Red Guards who had taken over the city.

In those years, at the end of the 1960s, Shanghai came to a virtual halt. Shipping was stopped, railways were closed down, food supplies into the city ran dangerously low. My own grandfather was already far away by then, in Singapore.

The Red Guards arrived one night during dinner, according to Raymond, and tore down the Cambridge Court sign as evidence of the compound's capitalist roots. They also charged his family an extortionate rent of 36 yuan a month. "Back then, it was a fortune," he remembers (although perhaps not quite as much of a fortune as he is charging me for my monthly rent…)

In short, he was forced to move out, and three new families moved into the house. After the Cultural Revolution ended, his family moved to Hong Kong and it was a long time before they succeeded in claiming the property back from the government.

And of course, the house is now a symbol of Shanghai's commercial success. Landlords have cashed in on the cachet that these old houses have, renting them to foreigners for vast sums while they shift their own families into convenient hi-rise apartments, complete with air-conditioning, swimming pools and gyms.

Only a few locals remain, but I'm happy to say that in Cambridge Court, Raymond's uncle is steadfastly clinging to his home, where he has lived for over 60 years. I'll try and tap his mine of stories about the changing face of Shanghai for future blogs.